Chapter 1
The memories flood back. William's father always drank heavily and would make him submit to his every whim, punishing him with a leather belt for any perceived disobedience. This gave the weak and frightened boy a twisted sense of control over a world that had never shown him mercy. Every time the belt cracked against his waist, nightmares would descend upon him. I first met William when I was five years old, during the New Year's performance at preschool. My mother had dressed me in a stunning red dress, complete with a black belt that I adored. In the midst of the cheerful chaos, William stood out in the most astonishingly mundane way. His hair was shaggy, obscuring his eyes, and even as a five-year-old, he carried an inexplicable heaviness in his demeanor. Summoning all my courage, I approached him. His eyes, hiding beneath his hair, were filled with fear as they darted to my black belt. I didn’t understand that look at the time. “Do you like my belt? My mom tied it on me, and if you want, I can give it to you.” I was ready to trade my most precious possession for a friend. “No, I don’t like it. Not at all.” William backed away, his refusals echoing in the air. After some thought, I slipped the belt off and tossed it into a nearby basket, boldly taking his hand and grinning. “Then I won’t wear it anymore. Will you play with me? I don’t have any friends, but you could be my good friend.” He hesitated, glancing at the discarded belt, then gave a small nod. But I never imagined that belt would eventually be turned against me, solidifying his childhood nightmare. William loomed over everything, an imposing figure, yet the thought of me growing distant terrified him. Each absence of affection made him raise the belt higher, relishing in the thrill of a power I never offered. From childhood, William and I were inseparable, a classic example of childhood sweethearts. My exuberant teenage heart couldn’t help but flutter at the thought. Despite the absurdity of love, Cupid’s arrows had a way of striking the perfect pair, and we were among them. Even in college, we remained inseparable. Others heard either of our names and immediately thought of the other. Words like "perfect couple" and "meant to be" floated around us, often spoken by mutual friends. After over a decade of friendship, it was during our senior year that William finally confessed his feelings, leading us to become a couple, just as I had always wished. He was naturally quiet, while I was outgoing and lively. Our relationship was a flawless complement. I thought our love was perfect. And it seemed the whole world agreed. Those days felt like the happiest of my life, as if I had been anointed by the heavens, experiencing the love I had so longed for. After graduation, I achieved success in my career, while his career sky-rocketed like a high-rise reaching toward the sky. As he stood atop the pinnacle of success, showcasing his innovative designs, fame embraced him overnight. His talent was undeniable, yet I found myself worried. I feared he would outgrow me, leaving me behind as a mere designer. Yet in the midst of his glory, he surprised me by kneeling to propose in front of an audience, making me Eleanor Swift, his beloved wife. Everyone said I married a man of exceptional talent and wealth, someone who had it all, and labeled me lucky, as though fate had bestowed a treasure upon me. Under the immense pressure of public opinion, even I began to believe I was simply fortunate, while my own efforts faded into the background. Eventually, I cracked under the weight of expectation, and work became unbearable. William brushed it off effortlessly, insisting I quit my job. He didn’t want me to just be a stay-at-home wife; instead, he entertained me daily, filling our home with laughter and distractions. For a time, I felt as if I had returned to the simplicity of childhood. But I was naïve then, blind to the reality of my entrapment within his scheme. I lost my wings of freedom, trapped in a constricting cage while gazing longingly at the limitless sky outside. Each time I tried to reach out for it, the black belt would crash down from nowhere, inflicting pain and bruises, harshly reminding me to not reach too far. From that moment on, he would indoctrinate me with his beliefs. I belonged to him, always would. My life was his, entirely. His terrifying possessiveness had me spiraling into despair.
Chapter 2
“Creak—” William Spencer gently pushed open the heavy door, his eyes scanning the room anxiously, hoping he wouldn’t find him back yet. But in the next moment, a familiar voice shattered his hope. “Where have you been?” The low, deep voice carried a menacing undertone, a clear sign of anger brewing beneath the surface. Eleanor Swift quickly turned, her long hair spilling gracefully over her shoulders, framing her face as if reflecting her name—gentle and delicate. She felt the panic rising in her chest, making her cheeks flush with warmth, and she quickly forced a smile. “Hey, honey, didn’t you say you’d be working late tonight? What are you doing home so early?” She watched as he set down his coffee mug with a forceful clank, the sound echoing in the silent room as the gray sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. His brow furrowed, a storm building in his gaze that she couldn’t ignore. “Come here.” William’s voice was low and authoritative, making Eleanor's heart race with unease. “I had a long day shopping. I’m just tired and wanted to get some rest.” “Don’t make me say it again.” She closed her eyes, biting her lip hard enough to feel the sting. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and walked toward him. Before she could even open her mouth, he seized her wrist, pulling her into his embrace with an intensity that made her head spin. She could feel him inhaling deeply, his breath heavy with something darker than frustration. “I—” “I warned you, didn’t I? You’re not supposed to go out. Why didn’t you listen to me? Do you think my words don’t mean anything to you?” “It’s not like that! I’ve been cooped up in our house for a week. I just went out to get some fresh air.” “Shopping.” His condescending laugh sent shivers down her spine. His fingers tangled in her hair, tugging sharply as his cold stare bore into her. “But what’s this? I can smell another man on you.” “Stop it! You know me, I’d never betray you. Please, don’t think like that, honey—” She wrapped her arms around his neck, planting a soft kiss just beneath his Adam's apple, hoping to diffuse his anger. “Are you feeling guilty?” Suddenly, his grip tightened in her hair, yanking her head back painfully, the roots nearing a breaking point. “Ah! That hurts...” Tears welled up in her blurred vision, and she played the part of the victim, feigning innocence to the fullest extent. Without warning, he pulled a stack of photographs from his pocket and threw them down at her. Eleanor’s fingers curled into fists as rage burned within her. “You went out shopping and you wouldn’t betray me? Then what’s this? You’re with this guy, chatting above that little café, looking awfully cozy. What did you find so funny that you can smile like that at him, but not once at me?” His fist gripped her hair like a vice, forcing her to look at the table strewn with pictures revealing her meeting earlier that day. She had arranged to meet Henry Hawthorne, the lawyer who was supposed to help her finalize her divorce—without William ever knowing. But she never imagined she’d be caught before everything could transpire. “Talk to me,” he demanded, his voice like thunder, using her hair to shove her down onto the table. He stood up abruptly, the sound of his belt unbuckling filling the tense atmosphere. An icy fear crept over Eleanor, and without thinking, she rushed to grab his arm in a desperate plea. Her disheveled hair fell like a curtain around her shoulders, disguising the turmoil beneath.
Chapter 3
“Please, I promise you, I don’t have any connections with him. He was just a stranger I met for the first time at The Roasted Bean Tavern. I swear, I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. Please believe me." "Oh, just a stranger you met for the first time?" Eleanor narrowed her eyes at her, studying the pitiful expression on her face. It was one act in front of him, but what was she really like behind his back? He knew she longed to escape from him. He squeezed her chin tightly, “Then this better be the first time, or you’ll be in for a long night. If I don’t teach you a lesson, maybe you really don’t know to whom you belong.” William Spencer felt a knot forming in his stomach as he watched her desperately shake her head, trying to explain. But what was done was done, and she wouldn’t get away. It was always the same, and she had learned to obey him, had complied with his every instruction. Yet, he still found fault. Always, there was a crack in her devotion; perhaps it hadn’t been there before, but now? She didn’t want to love him anymore. It hurt too much—this kind of love. The black leather belt hung ominously in the air, slicing through the oxygen, before crashing down against her shoulder. With a loud ‘snap’, the thin skin on her body turned bright red from the force of his belt, old wounds reopening, fresh ones starting to bloom. “Ah!” Tears filled William's eyes as she hugged her head and flinched away, retreating to escape the punishment. She screamed for help within the vast walls of the Hillside Villa. “Gerard! Margaret! Help me!” "Try running away again, I dare you!" With long strides in his sharp black suit, he reached her in just a few steps, forcing her head down as he pushed her onto the sofa, his right hand wielding the belt like a maniac. “How many times do I have to tell you? You are not going out! Why don’t you listen? Why did you go near another man?” “You belong to me. Who gave you permission to speak with other men? If I catch you talking to anyone else again, I’ll break your legs. You will stay here in The Family Home and do as I say.” “Ah! No, please... it hurts... help! Help, please!” She writhed in anguish, trying to evade the cutting sting, yet it was futile. His grip grew stronger, pinning her head, and her feeble protests were nothing but light tickles to him. “Who else do you think is coming to save you? No one can help you. You are mine, Eleanor Swift—you belong to me.” He ignored her cries, relentless, his belt crashing down until she was left bruised and battered. The elegant dress she wore was torn, her delicate skin marked and bleeding. Eleanor’s eyes widened, bloodshot and wild, and in a fit of rage matching his, she mimicked a move once made by her father, striking down on the defenseless figure beneath her, filling her empty heart with a bittersweet sense of satisfaction. “Do you dare? Do you still dare?” His heavy breaths filled the room, and his dark hair fell messily over his forehead. He pulled her hair back, lifting her chin to question her, her tears spilling over. She looked helpless, a mess, hair sticking to her tear-stained face, and even in her ruined state, there was a twisted allure. “N-no, I won’t do it again! Let me go, I’m so sorry, I swear it won’t happen again.” “Ha! I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson. Last time you promised me the same, yet you sneaked out again. If I don’t give you a proper punishment this time, you might just forget your place.” “Please, I swear I won’t do it anymore! Eleanor Swift, please, let me go, I’m sorry! I was wrong!” He squinted at her, nearly lifting her off the ground by her collar, a cruel smile curved at his lips. “Those kinds of words? Save them for later, when you’re in bed.”
Chapter 4
That night’s trauma was etched vividly in her memory, bloodstains marking the sheets of the bed. Not a single part of her body was unscathed. The raw, sticky blood clung to Lady’s pristine linens as she lay frozen in place, her thighs aching with an intensity that left her numb. She dreaded to check if there was more blood streaming from her lower half. He had punished her on the bed all night long, releasing his fury until dawn. After his anger subsided, he gathered her in his arms, his touch now gentle, smoothing over the marks he had left on her body. The routine began – showering, applying ointment, changing the sheets – all actions executed with chilling familiarity. William Spencer awoke to find that she was alone. She stared blankly at the door, her thoughts adrift, her cleansed body unable to salvage the wreckage of her mind. A soft knock resonated long after silence had settled. The door opened to reveal Margaret the Caretaker, a woman in her late fifties with dark hair, her face showing the signs of age. Dressed in a tidy blue uniform, she wore latex gloves matching Lady's hue, isolating her from the outside world. Margaret brought breakfast, her expression filled with concern. “Madam, it’s time to get up and eat. Does your body still hurt?” The sorrow she had stifled all night burst forth at the kindness of Margaret’s words. Her breath quickened, tears pooling in her eyes as she sobbed uncontrollably. “Please don’t cry. Mr. Eleanor Swift will be back soon; you mustn’t cry, or he will be angry.” Margaret placed the plate on the bedside and hurriedly knelt beside her. Willow’s delicate hands covered her face, tears soaking the palms as she struggled to suppress her cries, the sounds from her throat breaking hearts. With a newfound resolve, she lowered her hands, clenching her teeth as she declared, “I want a divorce... I truly want a divorce.” “Please don’t say that! I didn’t hear you; I swear I didn’t hear it!” Fear clouded Margaret’s eyes as she jumped to her feet and covered her ears. “Don’t say those things; just eat your breakfast. When Mr. Swift returns, please don’t let your emotions get the better of you.” Willow cried desperately, struggling to catch her breath as she pushed against the bed to sit up. Her bare skin displayed raw, swollen scars that were heart-wrenching to behold, as she looked at Margaret pleadingly. “Margaret, please help me! I’m begging you; I need a divorce, I really do!” Margaret, her teeth clenched in distress, shook her head vigorously, fighting the urge to cave. “Madam, please eat. You can’t cry anymore. He’ll be back soon.” Worrying her heart would soften, she hastily threw a few kind words over her shoulder before rushing out. Maintaining her own livelihood was the priority, but she couldn’t bear to watch Willow’s self-destruction. It was better for her to embrace this life of luxury than to endure the brutal reality of the situation. So many dreamt of a life like hers, unaware of its harshness. Since she first came here three years ago, learning of Eleanor’s cruelty, she had known that matters like these couldn’t be seen or spoken of lightly. Just twenty minutes later, the sound of a car echoed from outside. The door swung open, revealing Eleanor Swift, his frosty demeanor and cold expression striking fear into those who met his gaze. His jawline was sharply defined, void of any warmth or empathy.
Chapter 5
He unbuttoned his cuffs, his voice lowered as he asked, "Has the lady eaten yet?" "Her meal was delivered to the bedroom twenty minutes ago, sir. She may just be waking up," replied Margaret the Caretaker, her voice trembling slightly. He didn’t ask further, striding up the stairs two steps at a time. The sound of the bedroom door opening was familiar, as were the footsteps. She pulled the covers tightly around herself. The corner of the blanket was lifted, and he saw her tear-streaked face. He sat beside her, gently stroking the swollen skin beneath her eyes, a frown creasing his forehead. "Why are you still crying? Why didn't you eat your meal?" She shivered at his tone, his displeasure evident. “Willow.” Understanding his reprimand, she quickly opened her eyes, tears glistening as she looked up at him. The depth of her sorrow was palpable, a flash away from spilling over. Instead of anger, he smiled tenderly, brushing his fingers around her eyes. “Alright now, no more tears. If you behave, I won’t treat you the way I did last night. Next time you want to go out, I'll accompany you. You can't go out alone, do you understand?” Eleanor picked up the bowl of porridge from the nightstand and leaned over to wrap her arms around him, a practiced motion helping her sit up. The blanket slipped away, revealing painful bruises, yet he remained unfazed, as if he hadn't been the one to cause them. Her arms were too sore to lift, each cut sent sharp jolts through her body. “You don’t have to move if it hurts. I’ll feed you.” A spoonful of porridge was brought to her lips, but she stayed silent, refusing to cooperate. She could almost see herself saying the word "divorce," and in that moment, his face would go still for a second before he would hurl the bowl at her, pressing her head down into the bed and unleashing his belt upon her in fury. Terror made her lift her gaze to meet his. His lips were curled into a gentle smile. “What's wrong? Don’t you like it? This is your favorite sweet porridge from The Family Home near your college. I had Gerard the Steward pick it up just for you. If you don’t eat it, you can skip meals today altogether.” His words dripped with a thinly veiled threat, his eyes turning colder. She bit her lip, her eyes brimming with tears once more. The throbbing pain in her body was unrelenting, but slowly, she parted her lips to accept a spoonful of porridge. He grinned, a satisfied curve to his mouth. “That’s a good girl.” After finishing her breakfast, she fought back the tide of emotions that made her want to cry, but eventually couldn’t help the slight sob that escaped her. Eleanor raised her chin, his thumb brushing away the tears at the corner of her eyes, revealing her tender, red-cheeked face, which looked pitiful. “Why are you crying? Is it because of the pain from last night?” She didn’t dare respond, her sobs growing more intense, her breaths quickening, and she struggled to catch her breath. Why would he treat her so cruelly despite this warmth? His grip tightened as he wiped her face, his gaze icy. “I can give you whatever you want, but you are mine, and you must follow my orders. You know you can’t defy me. This has been made clear time and again.” Willow shook her head through her tears, “I-I just want to go out. I’m not involved with any other men. Please, don’t keep me locked away like this. Just treat me like before. Doing this only makes me more disappointed in our marriage.” “Ha, marriage.” His voice dripped with sarcasm as he pinched her chin, leaning close, his breath cool against her face. “Willow, I don’t want a marriage. It’s nothing but a chain around you. Whether we’re married or not, you can’t escape me. That’s a concept only those without real power need. I didn’t have the strength before, but now, all I want is you—completely, not just in name.” His piercing gaze seemed to cut through her, stealing her breath away. “You are mine, and you will obey me without question.”
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